Understand
by Suzukata
Summary: Their love is beautiful in a way that they will never understand, but that’s okay; they don’t need to understand to die. Blaise/Draco


**Title: **To Never Understand

**Rating: **PG-13

**Pairing/Characters/s: **Blaise/Draco, Harry

**Word Count: **1,489

**Warning/s: **Torture, crazy boys in love, slash, and evil people having a good time and being evil; just because.

**Disclaimer: **I do _not _own Harry Potter; if I did, there would be a whole lot less of this "Gryffindor good, Slytherin bad, everyone else unimportant" bullshit.

**Summary: **Their love is beautiful in a way that _they _will never understand, but that's okay; _they_ don't need to understand to die.

**A/N: **I am not satisfied with the ending, but nor can I improve it. Oh well. Writing the little crazy ramblings was way easier than it should have been. Should I be concerned? Anyway, I love this pairing, and I hate Harry. Thus, this story. That made a lot more sense in my head.

* * *

"Blaise . . ."

The Italian wizard lets his gaze drift from his current task, over to the slender figure in the doorway, and smiles wide with all his teeth.

_bloody messy death but so much fun you'll never regret it oh no you'll love it we'll love it right up until the moment where that beautiful filthy blood stops pouring out your slender throat and down onto the floor_

It is not a nice smile.

"Draco." He stretches an arm out; welcoming the other boy, who falls into the embrace with all the elegance that is owed to a pureblood. Soft, sweet moonlight falls on them through a broken window, and for brief moment, Draco is nothing but soft, pale skin and thin, breakable limbs. In this moment, he is a mere doll; as breakable as porcelain, and Blaise wonders what would happen if he broke this fragile creature.

_smash crack shatter into a hundred thousand million pieces that can never ever be put back together because they are too small too delicate there are so many of them broken for forever nothing to be done_

Then the body before them coughs up more blood, and his attention is drawn back to his work. His _art_; and he remembers the thrill that runs through his blood while he works at this wonderful, beautiful project of his, and feels blessed that he has been trusted to turn this _filthy_ _half-blood _into a thing of true beauty.

"Ah, it appears that our _Savior _is still among us." He studies his nails carefully for a moment and scrapes some dried blood off of them, then smiles _the smile_ again. "A pity."

_blasted fools thinking that they can stop us we are great and mighty but oh how lovely your filthy blood will look against his perfect skin the most beautiful picture I will ever paint oh God how you will scream and I will laugh as he kisses me while you die_

Those narrowed, furious green eyes turn up to look at him, only partially obscured by thick, matted black hair, and that bloodied face breaks into a snarl when its owner sees who Blaise is holding so closely and carefully.

"Malfoy." The name is spat, as if it is a curse, and from the way that Draco stiffens, Blaise can guess that there are some memories that Draco cannot beat back himself, memories that haunt him even now. And he knows that that is wrong, because the Malfoy name is pure, untainted by filthy blood, but he also knows that Draco cannot see this sometimes.

_he screams in the dark as he dreams you know so harsh and horrified but I am there to hold him his sobs of love and want are so much prettier than you can ever understand because that is how we love you can never dream of understanding_

But that's alright. Blaise can do it for him.

He allows his mouth to flip into a sneer, watching as Potter, _Perfect Potter_, goes paler the moment that he recognizes that expression and remembers what that means for him. Such a pathetic look; Draco laughs a little bit, but cannot keep it up for long, and breaks into a light coughing fit, turning his head away and covering his mouth with his hand, so that the tiny flecks of blood will not stain Blaise's cheek.

_choke hack wheeze asphyxiation oh how that slender throat bled and ached when he screamed again and again but I saved him I healed him I love him always and always I'll never stop loving him even if his voice stays small and weak I'll teach him voiceless magic teach him Muggle fighting all because I love him more than life and love themselves_

"Malfoy, you traitor. You backstabbing, double-crossing, son of a –" Potter gets no further; Blaise's foot connects firmly with his solar plexus, and Potter is left gasping for air, his face turning red with the effort. Blaise has heard enough of Potter's rants and speeches, and it is time that someone began to understand.

Draco has stopped coughing by now, but his head rests on Blaise's broad, muscled shoulder, his pretty face hidden in the curve of Blaise's neck. Some would think him weak for hiding, for looking so fragile and broken, but Blaise _knows_ Draco, so he can feel the hatred, the fury, the burning, aching desire for _revenge_ that fills Draco in moments like these; he holds his slender lover closer, placing a gentle kiss on top of that soft, silvery moonlight hair, and lets that raw hatred flow into and through him, reveling in it.

_I found him found him lying shattered and broken I put him together again a thousand scattered jigsaw puzzle pieces of course he's not quite the same oh no never the same again but I will love him into infinity I will help him heal and those who broke him will learn his pain haha yes oh yes_

Because Blaise knows that Draco is not fragile. Nor is he weak, or vulnerable, or anything else like that. To the rest of the world, Draco is a broken doll, but to Blaise, he is something far more terrible and beautiful and wonderful all at once.

"Blaise," he whispers, voice muffled by Blaise's own flesh and clothing. "I want to use his blood."

Oh, that voice, so sweet and charming, and Blaise doesn't think he could ever say no to someone who can appear so innocent and then become so ruthless. No, he doesn't think he'll ever be able to say no to Draco, no matter how many years go by or Lords they serve or fools they kill.

_they think we're loyal think we're pets think we'll do as they say no oh no how wrong so wrong we live for ourselves nothing matters more someday they'll see you'll see all of you will feel it_

"Of course, _cara_," he says, smiling sharply down at Potter's wide, horrified expression, which only goes wider and more terrified as Blaise's smile shows more and more teeth. He can feel Draco smile into his neck, and though he isn't sure if it's because of the endearment or the promise, it doesn't matter.

Draco's smiles are worth treasuring, no matter what the circumstances, cost, or consequences.

Potter's breathing has gone harsh and is coming faster now; Blaise can almost _taste_ his terror, and it is delicious. Success makes him greedy, and he wants to taste more, more, _more_.

_promises are important sacred vows oaths we have been promised fear blood death in such amounts so much death so much fear all topped with blood we collect on such promises we will have what was promised to us_

"You're sick, both of you," wheezes Potter, defiance shining bright in those wide green eyes; despite himself, Blaise is almost impressed that the boy can still be so confident after everything. Such willpower rarely crosses his path, and he will enjoy breaking the boy.

That's all Potter is, really. A boy who never grew up.

"Oh shut up Potter," whispers Draco, whirling around and lashing out with a needle-laced palm; all of them gifts from his Auntie Bella and Blaise, who take care of him and taught him everything he needs to know. Blood oozes down Potter's temple, mingling with the startled tears that fall from his wide, startled eyes.

_such lovely filthy blood lovely so lovely not as lovely as he is as we are but we will make such wonderful art with that filthy lovely blood it will be glorious it will be perfect just like us so much like us like our love like our lives your blood will become our art_

He can see that Potter doesn't know; doesn't know what the Light has done to Draco, to Blaise, to everything it touches. No one has told him, and he, naïve little child that he is, has never questioned.

But that's okay. After all, he doesn't need to know to die.

Draco laughs when Blaise finally rips out Potter's throat, and the blood splashes over them, dark and red against Draco's pale white flesh, and Blaise laughs with him. This is _art_, and they love it, need it, almost as much as they need each other.

_yes we love each other no you'll never understand how could you understand this is ours only ours forever and ever you'll never understand no one has to understand to die no one will ever understand no one should ever try_

They kiss, harsh and hungry, and Potter's wide, uncomprehending eyes stare dully at them, his blood slick and colorful against the grey stone of the floor.

Draco moans softly, shivering in Blaise's arms, and Blaise smiles wide with all his teeth at nobody, laughing a bit before turning back to Draco.

After all, they've only just begun.

* * *

Oh. My. God.

I cannot believe that I just wrote that. I really can't.

More than that, I can't believe how _easily_ it came to me. Either this is crap, or my sanity has finally taken a very, very long vacation.

Tell me which it is? Please?

- Suzu


End file.
